


Diary of a Cabin Boy

by awkwardgturtle



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Crossdressing, Kidnapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 16:57:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardgturtle/pseuds/awkwardgturtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick is a dock worker living a peaceful life until he's kidnapped by a band of nefarious pirates! But as he spends his captivity as the crew's cabin boy, he may find that they aren't quite as dangerous as they seem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diary of a Cabin Boy

It was exactly three weeks since Patrick arrived in Kingston that he worked his first day down at the docks. It was an eventful one too, for there was a grand festival in town and ships from all over the Caribbean and beyond were coming in to port to enjoy it. Patrick was rushing from boat to boat, ship to ship, reining them in, collecting the docking fee and occasionally hauling cargo from one end of the dock to the other. He would have been in a sour mood by the end of the day if it weren’t for the faint strands of melody that floated down from the city, coursed through his body, and flowed from his lips in a distracted hum as he went about his work.

Patrick’s muscles ached something terrible at the end of his shift. He dropped off one last crate at the dock house, humming strains of a nameless tune and wiping his sweat-soaked forehead with his sleeve. He turned abruptly, and was startled to find a man with dark hair and tight pants standing too close behind him. He was dressed remarkably well, with many rings adorning his right hand and an uneven haircut that swept across his bright, golden-brown eyes. Patrick could have passed him off as a wealthy, respectable sailor if it weren’t for his eyeliner, floppy boots, and tattoos that could be seen through his puffy white shirt.

“May I help you?” Patrick asked him, trying hard to keep his voice level.

The sailor looked him up and down, then walked away without a word.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The festival neared an end exactly one week since Patrick’s first day at the harbor, and it was busier by far. Not only were all of the ships heading out, but most had bought goods at the fair. Fortunately, Patrick had adjusted to the heavy lifting and the wind still carried the music from the final hours of the fair.

Just as Patrick finished seeing a schooner off, his boss called to him from the dock house. “Patrick! There’s a square-rigger on dock twelve that’s heading out.”

“Aye, sir!” Patrick replied automatically and immediately shuffled to dock twelve.

In his few days as a dockworker, Patrick had seen many, many ships, but this one was enormous. It was easily a hundred feet long and thirty feet wide, with three towering masts and a crows’ nest that peeked over a would-be cloud of furled sails.

“She’s called DecayDance.”

Patrick nearly leaped into the water in his fright. Standing too close behind him was the sailor from the week before, but this time he was smiling too wide and revealing a mouthful of too-big teeth. Somehow, he was still oddly attractive. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Y-yeah,” Patrick stuttered, adjusting his newsboy cap that had gone crooked with his jump, “Beautiful. I mean, the ship is.” Patrick cleared his throat and tried again. “May I help you?”

The sailor thought on this. “Yes, actually.” He pointed across the dock to some crates piled neatly next to another ship. “You can bring those crates onto my ship.”

“That’s your ship?” Patrick asked, indicating the significantly smaller ship the crates were near.

“No, that’s my ship,” said the sailor, directing Patrick’s attention back to the bigger ship.

Patrick’s eyes went wide. “That’s your ship?” The sailor grinned and nodded. “Why are your boxes all the way over there?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t put them there.” He turned to the ship and called, “Mikey!”

A gangly boy peered over the bow. “Yes, captain?”

“Help Patrick move those boxes,” the captain ordered.

“What… How did you...?” Patrick flailed his hands helplessly. “Who told you my name?”

The captain winked. “I have my ways.”

The boy came down from the ship, looking perplexed. “What boxes?”

Patrick pointed to the boxes.

The boy paused. “Oh,” he said, “those boxes.”

The captain gave Patrick another wide grin and disappeared onto his ship.

“I don’t really need help,” Patrick told the boy as he lifted the first crate. “I can get these all myself.”

The boy shrugged. “If Pete tells me to help, I have to help. I’m close enough to being thrown off the ship as it is.” He smiled warmly and held out his hand. “I’m Mikey, by the way.”

Patrick looked down at the hand over the crate he was holding, then looked back up at the boy. Mikey withdrew his hand with an embarrassed laugh and bent over to pick up a crate.

“So why are you so close to being fired?” Patrick asked conversationally as they boarded the ship together.

“Not fired,” Mikey corrected, “thrown off the ship. Pete may be small, but he can be a little temperamental.”

Patrick set down his crate when they reached the cargo hold. “What have you done to upset him?”

Mikey sat down on the crate he had just set down. “Um. I was hired completely off of my brother Gerard’s recommendation, but I’m a little bit clumsy sometimes, so...” Mikey shrugged.

Patrick nodded, then headed back to get more boxes. He barely made it halfway up the stairs when Mikey followed him quickly.

“Where are you going?”

“To get more boxes,” Patrick said slowly, not understanding the problem.

Mikey fidgeted. “There are no more boxes.”

“Yes there are,” Patrick argued. “There were at least six more.”

“Those weren’t ours.”

“They were in the same pile!”

“No they weren’t.”

Patrick narrowed his eyes at the boy, then started off toward the dock again.

Mikey grabbed him by the sleeve. “Those weren’t ours!” He repeated.

“Either way, I have to get back to work,” Patrick growled as he tugged his arm away.

A tall, feminine sailor laughed from behind the wheel. “It’s a little late for that.”

Patrick was about to ask what he meant when her noticed that the dock was now moving further away. He looked to Mikey for an explanation, but he only found Pete standing too close behind him once again.

“Welcome aboard,” Pete said with a smug grin.

Patrick groaned internally. Exactly one month in a new town and exactly one week into working a new job, Patrick was abducted by pirates. Just his luck. Patrick felt marginally better after he punched Pete in the shoulder.

Pete laughed as he rubbed at the injury. “I guess I deserved that, didn’t I?” He turned to pat Mikey on the back. “Now let’s see what’s in those boxes you nabbed.”

“Wait,” Patrick said, following Pete and several other pirates back into the cargo hold. “You made me steal?”

“I requested that you steal. You didn’t have to listen to me.”

“It was my job to listen to you!” Patrick protested.

Pete shrugged. “Not my problem. You’re a cold-blooded criminal now.” He kicked a crate. “Bust that one open, Bob.”

Bob, a strong blonde man, stepped forward with a crowbar and pried the lid off the crate. The pirates all gathered around to peer inside the crate, only to find a wide selection of corsets, lace gloves and feathered hats.

Patrick burst out laughing as Pete’s face dropped. “Serves you right, you asshole,” said Patrick. “This stuff is completely useless.”

A gaudily dressed crew member reached in and pulled out a bodice by the frills. “I don’t know, Pete; this is totally your color.”

Pete’s face brightened immediately. “Do you think so?”

“Don’t say that, Gabe,” the tall helmsman scolded, snatching the bodice away. “He’ll believe it.”

Gabe leered at him. “I’d love to see those long legs of yours under a skirt, William.”

“I’m sure you would,” William replied, hustling the crew back up the stairs, leaving Patrick alone with Mikey.

“So I guess I’m a pirate now,” Patrick lamented aloud.

Mikey chuckled, shaking his head. “Hate to break it to you, but right now you’re Pete’s treasure.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

After about two weeks of working on DecayDance – the days blended together when sailing the open ocean – Patrick had finally found his place on the ship. Pete had lovingly dubbed him the “cabin boy”, but he was, for lack of better words, their slave. He was the one they called on when they needed something cleaned, hauled, or simply wanted someone to pick on. Fortunately the bosun, Bob, would call them off when they were getting too rowdy.

Patrick liked Bob. From what Patrick knew, he was hired by Pete to keep the often unruly crew in check – and true, he did look rather intimidating – but he was really a nice, funny guy; he would occasionally serenade First Mate Gerard in what he called his “solo project”. To his credit, though, he could still keep order rather effectively.

The only crew member Bob could not contain was Gabe. Gabe was rather selective about what he listened to, which led to many power struggles with Pete and even more terrible innuendoes. Patrick suspected that this was why he was appointed permanent lookout and spent most of his time confined to the crows’ nest. This did nothing to hinder his will to be obnoxious, so he would pass the time hitting on William from aloft and informing Victoria that he could see down her shirt as he tried to drop coins into her v-necks. It was frightening how good his aim was.

Patrick was grateful for his seclusion, however, because while he was off-duty he had taken to grabbing Patrick’s ass, looking away innocently when he whipped around, and making lewd comments regarding Patrick’s mouth. Pete did not seem to approve, and made a point of unsubtly hovering around Patrick when Gabe was nearby, casting dangerous glares when he came too close.

Gabe was off duty this day, but fortunately nowhere to be found, as Patrick and Mikey loitered in the cargo hold. It had become their unofficial hang-out spot since Patrick arrived on the ship.

“It’s been quiet today,” Mikey commented, kicking his feet against the crate he was sitting on, “and not just because Gabe’s disappeared. I haven’t seen Pete or Gerard recently, either.”

“I thought I saw Pete go into the cabin not too long ago,” Patrick replied. “Have you checked there?”

Mikey shook his head. “Locked.”

“Try this.” Patrick tossed a key at him.

“Where did you get this?” Mikey asked, laughing in disbelief.

“Gabe gave it to me this morning.”

Mikey paled slightly and hurriedly handed the key back to Patrick. “I think maybe you should go.”

Patrick rolled his eyes as he took the key back. “Fine.”

In retrospect, Patrick probably should have been more suspicious of Gabe’s intentions, or perhaps of Mikey’s strange reaction. Either way, he would have at least avoided walking in on Gabe attempting to fit Pete into a corset that was clearly too small, with Gerard doubled over from laughter in the corner. Patrick numbly shut the door without a word and ventured back to the cargo hold.

He almost wasn’t surprised when Pete stumbled down after him, tripping over his skirt with his corset half-laced. “Patrick…” he began.

“No,” Patrick cut off, “I don’t want to know. Whatever you do in your free time is your issue.”

“What?” Pete breathed. “This isn’t, like, a hobby or anything.”

Mikey giggled from atop his crate. “Are those fishnets?”

Pete tugged at his skirt as a faint color bloomed across his cheeks.

William picked that moment to descend the stairs, an announcement on his lips that was quickly forgotten when he caught sight of Pete. “You make a very lovely woman,” he said slowly, “but I’m afraid this is not a great way to get the crew to take you seriously.”

“It’s only fun and games, my dear William,” Gabe said, suddenly appearing in a bright green number – complete with long lace gloves and an obnoxious feather headdress – and slinging an arm around William’s thin shoulders. “I was waiting for you to join us, Patrick. I had an outfit all picked out and everything.”

“I’ll pass,” Patrick murmured.

Suddenly, there were hands on Patrick’s shoulders and Gabe was manhandling him toward the stairs. “No, I insist.”

“Get your hands off him, Saporta!” Pete hissed, fast on their heels. “Right the fuck now!”

“Oh, come on, Pete,” Gabe said as he dragged Patrick into the cabin. “You never let me do anything.”

“Except put him in a dress,” Gerard interjected, still sitting in the corner.

Pete scowled. “Get back to your post, Gabe.”

“But I’m—” Gabe started to protest.

“Break’s over,” Pete interrupted, jaw tight. “Get your ass back to the crows’ nest.”

“Yes captain,” Gabe muttered dejectedly.

Pete tore off his corset as soon as Gabe left. “I can’t fucking breathe in this thing,” Pete gasped, throwing it to the floor. “It’s like a goddamn torture device. The things women do for fashion will never cease to baffle me.”

“You weren’t exactly built for corsets,” Patrick pointed out, watching Mikey dig through a crate of clothes, coming up a large feather and a wide-brimmed hat.

“Hey, don’t insult my figure,” said Pete, clutching his ribs as he stepped out of his skirt. As Mikey had observed earlier, he was indeed wearing fishnets over his normal pants.

“Those are nice,” Patrick teased as Pete reached to remove them. “You should keep them.”

Pete threw a wink at him. “I’d wear them again for you.”

Patrick flushed and looked back to Mikey who had plopped his hat on his head and was now attempting to stuff the feather in the side as he walked away.

“Mikey!” Gerard warned a split second too late as Mikey tripped over the second box and tumbled into it, head-first.

Gerard rushed over and tugged Mikey upright by his collar, a lacy garter hanging from the feather that he successfully stuck in his cap. Oblivious, Mikey smiled, thanked his brother, and left with Patrick. Patrick decided he wouldn’t tell Mikey about the garter. After all, walking in on Pete had been mostly Mikey’s fault. They had barely taken a step out of the cabin when some shouting caught their attention.

Frank, the ship’s chef, stormed out onto the deck, and Travis was very obviously running away from him. “My food is shit, huh?” Frank snarled at the significantly taller man.

“I was joking!” Travis said, throwing his hands up on surrender. “I’m sorry!”

“Come say it to my face!” Frank demanded, ignoring the apology. Just then, a guy with giant hair grabbed Frank by the arm and dragged him below deck, much to Travis’s relief.

“Who was that?” Patrick asked Mikey.

“Oh, that’s Ray,” Mikey explained with a laugh. “He’s Frank’s babysitter.”

“What does he do on the ship?”

“Babysits Frank,” Mikey said, as if it were obvious. “Come on, we should get to work.”

Patrick ran a hand over his face. He may never understand these people.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Seven weeks since his kidnapping, things started to go downhill. Patrick was arguing with Pete after he found out that the ship went into port to resupply a week ago while Patrick was asleep.

You could have at least told me,” Patrick yelled waving his arms about. “I haven’t been off this ship in over a month! I just want to step on dry land again!"

Pete crossed his legs as he leaned back in his expensive-looking chair. “I understand, but I simply can’t just let you run off as soon as we hit land.”

“What makes you think—” Patrick’s outburst was cut off when Gerard sped into the room.

“Bad news, Captain,” he said, looking genuinely worried. Patrick figured a worried Pirate never bodes well. “Gabe has spotted a mean-looking storm that’s coming our way, and fast.”

Pete shrugged, unconcerned. “So, head to the nearest port. We’ve been though this before; it’s not a big deal.”

Gerard shifted. “See, that’s the thing. We talked to Brendon, and he says that the nearest port is a good three days out.”

Pete’s silence was not assuring. Even less assuring was the muttered “…Shit,” at the end of it before he stood and rushed out onto the deck, Patrick and Gerard scurrying after him.

“Gabe!” Pete called up the mast. “How long until that storm hits us?”

“By the looks of it, sometime tonight,” Gabe replied, most of his voice drifting off with the wind.

Pete thought for a moment before asking, “Do you think we can outrun it?”

Gabe glanced uneasily toward the rolling black clouds gathering on the horizon. “Not for long. Besides, it would take us in the opposite direction from the port.”

“Fuck,” Pete said under his breath. That was definitely not a good sign. “Batten down the hatches, then,” he said finally, raising his voice for the crew to hear. “We’re going to have to ride this one out.”

A collection of anxious stares came in reply, but the crew obeyed, running this way and that, bringing things below deck, securing cargo and cannons and whatnot. Patrick turned to help, but faltered when he saw Pete leaning against the mast, eyes closed, a shadow over his normally expressive face.

“Pete,” Patrick said, reaching out to touch his arm. “It’ll be okay.”

Pete opened his eyes to glance at the touch, then at Patrick. Pete forced a weak smile. “Yeah.”

Just then, Gabe let out a cry from above. “Land, ho!”

“That’s not funny, Gabe,” William huffed from where he was leaning over a map with Brendon, the ship’s navigator. “There’s no land around here for miles.”

“I’m serious,” Gabe insisted, “there’s a big ass island a few miles out, straight off the bow.”

“You’re delusional!”

“Shut up, both of you,” Pete snapped, rubbing at his face. “Patrick, run up the bow and check it out.”

“Yes, sir,” Patrick mumbled and scrambled up the deck, securing his hat as the wind swelled from behind him. He approached the bow and peered over, but his eyes were drawn to the water. The waves churned restlessly, dipping and rolling as if they were willfully pulling the ship forward. Patrick tore his eyes away and scanned the horizon. It was empty.

“I don’t see anything,” Patrick reported.

“Are you fucking blind?” Gabe cried hysterically, jabbing a finger toward where Patrick was staring. “It’s right there!”

Patrick pulled off his glasses, cleaned them, then checked again. “Still nothing.”

Gabe threw his hands up in frustration. “This is bullshit!”

“No, what’s bullshit is that you’re seeing imaginary islands and freaking all of us out,” William retorted.

“It’s not imaginary,” Gabe hissed. “It’s fucking huge, a little creepy and straight ahead.”

“There’s open ocean straight ahead!” Patrick argued, indicating said ocean.

Pete’s eyes flicked from Patrick to Gabe to William, then back to Patrick, seeming to be at a loss. Finally, he joined Patrick on the bow to gaze over the water, the wind sending wisps of his hair falling across his golden-brown eyes and catching his shirt, making it flutter as if it were another sail. Patrick almost choked on his tongue.

Though that may be because Pete gestured over the prow and said, “You mean that island?”

Patrick looked over the water, then back at Pete, mouth hanging open in disbelief. His incredulous “What?!” mixed with Gabe’s relieved “Thank you!”

“You honestly don’t see it?” Pete looked genuinely puzzled.

“I don’t see it either,” Gerard piped in. “Maybe it’s island only visible to assholes.” Pete turned a venomous glare on him.

“Or maybe they’re both crazy,” William offered, draping his arms over the wheel. Pete only shrugged at that one.

Thoroughly confused, Patrick scanned the horizon with squinting eyes until Pete stepped behind him, slipping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him so his back was pressed to Pete’s chest. “It’s there,” Pete said, pointing exactly where Patrick had been looking.

Patrick sighed but looked again, ready to report that he saw nothing. That was when the island appeared to him, fading in slowly as if it were coming out of a mist. The island was huge; it straddled the horizon for miles on either side. Tall, jagged rocks jutted like teeth along the skyline and scattered in the shallows.

“I… I see it now,” Patrick said softly, “but doesn’t it look dangerous to you?”

Pete let his arm drop and sighed. “We have no choice. If we don’t land on it now, chances are that the storm will end up stranding us on it anyway, ruining the ship to boot.”

Patrick shivered at the though, and Pete placed a comforting hand on his arm. “It’ll be alright,” Pete whispered, his breath warm on Patrick’s ear. “We’ll be alright.” Pete tightened his grip on Patrick’s arm.

Patrick subconsciously settled against Pete’s chest, but soon jolted upright when Gabe’s shout tore though the silence.

“Rocks, William! Turn to port!”

“I don’t see anything,” William said indignantly, gripping the wheel and steering the ship straight toward one of the jagged teeth.

“William,” Patrick cried as Pete tore away from him, bounding furiously across the deck to shove William from his post.

“Hard to port,” Pete bellowed, spinning the wheel hard. The ship banked violently, sending the crew stumbling and nearly knocking Patrick into the ocean. There was a loud crunch as prow jerked upwards, forcing Patrick to his knees as he scrambled to grab hold of something. The hull plunged back into the water, throwing a wave of salty water across the deck. Patrick sputtered as he stood, his eyes burning and blurry from the ocean spray that dripped from his hair and clothes.

He vaguely registered Pete screaming, “Get Patrick below deck!” before Mikey wrapped a supporting arm around him, making a joke about how he needed to work on his sea legs.

“Fuck you,” Patrick mumbled, but accepted the help, leaning all his weight on Mikey as he led him into Pete’s cabin.

Patrick slipped to the ground and braced a hand on the floor when the ship banked steeply again, earning a frustrated “Thanks for the warning, Capitan!” from one of the crew members – likely Gerard, by the sound of it.

“Hard to starboard,” Pete said belatedly and somewhat childishly.

“You’ll be safe here,” Mikey said, settling on the floor with Patrick. “Just hold on to me if you feel unsteady.”

Patrick nodded, then leaned against the wall, simply hoping that he’d get out of this alive.

**Author's Note:**

> A fair amount of research went into this, but any historical inaccuracies are solely on me.


End file.
